Moving On
by jamie marr
Summary: Harry returns to Hogwarts to complete his Seventh Year. Waking up after winning the Quidditch Cup, and its ensuing celebrations, Harry finds things have changed. Drastically. Rated for implied character death.
1. Part One

**A/N:** I've had the idea for this story bouncing around my head for a while now. It's going to be a quick story - no more than three chapters. Please review - I love to hear what people think of my writing.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything you recognise.

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**Part One**

Harry awoke to light flooding the 7th Years' dormitory, groaning as the rays pierced his skull and intensified his throbbing headache. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry thought back to the reason for his headache with a smile on his face.

_It all came down to this dive, Harry thought with amusement – he really shouldn't have expected anything else. The scores were tied, and he was racing Malfoy to the Snitch hovering a few feet above the ground. Streamlining himself to his Firebolt, Harry narrowly avoided a Bludger to the head. Slowly, he inched ahead of Malfoy, his excitement building. Reaching out with his right hand, Harry felt the fluttering of the Snitch's wings before his hand closed around the tiny golden ball._

_Pulling out of the dive, Harry raised his hand in triumph, and was swamped by his teammates. Floating to the ground, the roaring of the crowd overwhelmed Harry's hearing – even the Slytherins were clapping, albeit reluctantly, a sign of how things had changed. Once on the ground, Harry saw Malfoy approach._

"_Good game, Potter. Congratulations," Malfoy said, without any of the malice he once possessed when speaking to Harry._

"_Thanks," Harry said, smiling, holding out his hand for Malfoy to shake. Malfoy stared at the offered hand for a moment before extending his own, a smile also crossing his face briefly. Harry turned as he heard the presentation begin._

"_In one of the best matches Hogwarts has seen in years," Madam Hooch's magnified voice told the crowd, "I present the 1998/99 Quidditch Champions, GRYFFINDOR!"_

_Receiving the Cup from Madam Hooch, Harry lifted it with Ron, huge smiles on their faces, to the raucous cheering of the Gryffindor crowd. Said crowd began spilling onto the pitch, cheering, and trying to touch any part of the Gryffindor team they could reach, effectively carrying the whole team back to the Common Room_

_The party in the Gryffindor Common Room was unlike any Harry had ever experienced. Without any threats to their safety, Harry's final year at school had been one of the best, and it was clear everyone else in the Castle felt the same (perhaps with the exception of certain members of the Slytherin House). The party raged long into the night, with lots of talking, drinking, and eating. McGonagall didn't even try to shut them down, making it clear the teachers were happy for their safety – it helped that it was three members of Gryffindor House that had ensured this safety._

_Harry spoke to just about every member of the House throughout the night, actually enjoying his popularity for a change – the amount of Firewhiskey he had consumed helped in this endeavour significantly. Finally, as the Sun was rising, Harry dragged himself up to bed and passed out._

Breaking out of his reverie, Harry walked over to the window to get a drink of water. Looking outside, he thought he could see Ron and Hermione strolling around the Lake, closer together than would be acceptable for friends. Harry smiled, glad his two best friends had finally realised their feelings for each other, even if it had taken a near death experience. Figuring getting some more sleep wouldn't hurt, Harry walked back to his bed, and was asleep within minutes.

xxxxx

The next time Harry woke, the dorm was once again empty. Casting a tempus charm, and learning the time to be 10am, he realised it was Monday morning and none of his dorm mates had woken him for class. Cursing, he jumped out of bed, threw on his uniform, and ran out the door.

Within 10 minutes, Harry was panting outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Despite really not needing to take the class, it was still among Harry's favourites – though he did not enjoy their new professor's (Marcus McBreen) awe of him, Ron and Hermione. Taking one last heaving breath, Harry composed himself and walked into the classroom. Seeing the seats beside Ron and Hermione taken, Harry slipped into a seat at the back of the room, seemingly noticed by no one. McBreen was lecturing on the properties of a corporeal Patronus, and Harry tuned out, having been able to produce one since 13.

Before Harry knew it, the bell signalling the end of class was ringing, and his fellow Gryffindors swept him towards Transfiguration. Walking into the classroom, Harry noticed Ron and Hermione had beaten him there, and went to take his place beside them. After dropping his bag on the floor, Harry turned towards Ron.

"Why didn't you wake me this morning?" No response. "Ron…?"

Before Harry could continue, McGonagall walked into the room and began the class. They were beginning human transfiguration, and McGonagall spent the entire class describing the theory and wand movements. As the bell rang, she set the class a six-foot essay on the theories and risks of self-transfiguration. Before Harry had even packed his bag, Ron and Hermione were up and out of the room. Quickly throwing his bag over his shoulder, Harry hurried after them.

"Ron!" he yelled down the hallway. "Hermione, wait!" Neither turned at the sound of his voice, causing Harry to begin worrying. Had he done something to annoy them? They had never both ignored him before. Maybe he'd done something at the party? Catching up, Harry swallowed his pride and attempted to apologise – though for what, he was not exactly sure.

"Look, Ron, I'm sorry, okay?" Silence. No recognition. It was like he wasn't even there. Harry hurried in front of Ron, intent on forcing him to stop and listen. Standing in Ron's path, Harry raised his arms to grab Ron's shoulders.

"Ron, please sto–" Harry stopped speaking, in shock. He stood in the middle of the hallway, not moving, arms still raised. Ron had passed right through him. There was no way. He couldn't be. Dropping his arms, Harry turned and saw Ron shiver as though hit by a sudden icy breeze. No. This could not be happening. How…? Harry's thoughts were running at a mile-a-minute. But one was sticking with him – he was a ghost. He was _dead_.

He was dead. Harry couldn't believe it, especially as he couldn't remember dying. He remembered everything from the past few days, and there was no discernable point where he could have died. He was dead, and didn't remember dying; it was something that could only happen to him, the Boy Who Lived. Harry almost laughed.

Reaching the end of a random hallway, Harry went to lean against a wall and think. It quickly struck him as strange that the wall held his weight, as ghosts could pass through them. Before he even realised what was happening, Harry was flailing as he fell sideways through the stone wall and into an empty classroom. Harry really did laugh this time, though it was completely humourless.

Harry sat on the floor of the classroom for some time, not wanting to believe, despite all the evidence, that he was in fact dead. Somewhere overhead, Harry heard the bell ring, which was quickly followed by a stream of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Third Years filing into the classroom. The younger years usually fell into various states of awe around Harry, yet none appeared to have noticed his presence.

Thinking about standing up, Harry found himself floating back to his feet. In a final, desperate, attempt to prove he had not become a ghost, Harry went and stood on the teachers' desk, jumping up and down and waving his arms. Nothing. Sighing, he jumped off the desk and made his way to the door, exiting straight through an unsuspecting Professor McGonagall.

As he walked aimlessly along the corridor he had tried to stop Ron in earlier, Harry realised that the ghosts of Hogwarts could reveal themselves to the students. He wanted to smack himself in the head for not remembering sooner. Harry figured it would be much like the floating and moving through walls – he just had to think about revealing himself and it would happen. With that in mind, Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room to wait for the perfect time to reveal himself to Ron and Hermione.


	2. Part Two

**A/N:** Not one review. Please, even if you just say 'I like it', it would mean a lot if you left a review.

Anywho, here's part two. Just one more to go after this.

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognise? It doesn't belong to me.

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**Part Two**

It couldn't have worked out more perfectly, Harry thought, as the last of the Gryffindors (save Ron and Hermione) made their way up to the Dorms. He had sat in the Common Room for hours, waiting for the opportune moment to reveal himself. Harry observed the pair throughout the night, and quickly picked up on their despair. He felt guilty for causing his best friends such pain, which acted to increase his hope that he would in fact be able to reveal himself to them. Harry rose from the armchair he had been lounging in for the previous two hours, and made his way across the room to his friends. He sat down across from the pair, thinking of becoming visible.

"Hey guys," Harry said sheepishly. Neither of them looked up from their work. He wasn't really worried – he really hadn't expected to be successful on his first attempt. Leaning back, Harry closed his eyes and directed all of his focus on becoming visible. A minute or so later, he reopened his eyes and tried speaking again.

"Ron? Hermione?" he said hopefully. A few seconds later, Hermione looked up and stared straight at Harry.

"Hermione! You have no idea –" Harry was cut off as she began speaking.

"Do you hear something, Ron?" she said, turning away from Harry, "I could have sworn I heard someone speaking from over there," she waved her hand in the general direction of Harry. Ron looked up from the parchment he had been checking over, looking first at Hermione, then Harry, and back again.

"No, maybe it was just the wind?" Ron looked sceptical, as the night was perfectly still. "You've been working for hours Hermione, you should go to bed."

"You're probably right. I just…" Hermione took a shaky breath, "It's hard. I keep expecting Harry to walk through the door, or to be sitting across from us. I–" tears began streaming down Hermione's face, and Ron moved to comfort her, whispering things Harry could not hear. Harry's throat felt tight. Wishing more than ever that he were visible, Harry went and sat on Hermione's other side, wrapping a ghostly arm around her shoulders. Hermione shivered at the contact, and Harry felt somewhat comforted that, even though she could not see him, Hermione could at least feel he was there.

As her sobs died down, Hermione gathered her things and, bidding Ron goodnight, went up to the girls' dorms. Harry watched as Ron spent five minutes gathering his thoughts and emotions, before following Hermione's lead and heading to bed. As Ron reached the staircase, Harry spoke a choked 'Goodnight'. Ron stopped walking, his left foot hovering just above the first stair; Harry could scarcely believe his luck. Before his excitement could truly set in, however, Ron seemed to mentally shake himself, and walked up the stairs to bed.

xxxxx

Harry spent that night floating aimlessly around the Castle, devastated that he had not been able to reveal himself to his best friends. As one constantly described as having a hero-complex, Harry was glad it was him who'd died rather than them, but it still _hurt_. Seeing their pain was horrible, and the fact that he still did not know how he'd actually died wasn't helping either.

After what felt like hours and no time at all, Harry sensed another presence in the corridor he was currently floating along. Looking up, he saw Nearly Headless Nick, and wished he could smack himself in the forehead – how had he not thought to speak with one of the Castle's ghosts? He felt his mood lift slightly at the thought of being able to speak to someone, even if they were dead like him.

"Nick!" Harry said, his voice loud in the silent corridor. He watched as Nick seemingly broke out of his thoughts, then looked up and saw him, Harry, floating in front of him.

"Harry," Nick sounded slightly shocked to see him. "I did not expect to see you here again."

"I didn't expect to have left yet," Harry countered. "Nick, do you know how I died?"

"You don't?" Harry just shook his head silently. "It was the last Quidditch match of the season. You were racing Malfoy to the Snitch, and, well… a Bludger smashed into your head. That, and falling of your broom… there was nothing Madam Pomfrey could do." Harry wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Only he, the boy who defeated Voldemort, could be bested by a Bludger.

"I remember the game, I thought we won. There was a Bludger, but it missed me. I don't remember any point that I could have died!" Harry said with frustration.

"It is rare, though not unheard of, for the mind to ignore death. Those who pass before their time sometimes continue on as if nothing has happened."

"No one can see me though! You can show yourself, why can't I?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, I truly don't know," and with that, Nick floated away.

Harry stood in the corridor a while longer, considering what Nick had told him, before resuming his aimless floating.

xxxxx

The next afternoon, Harry could be found laying on his four-poster contemplating his life, or, more appropriately, lack thereof. He thought back to the last time he 'died' and how he had met Dumbledore in King's Cross, who had told him of the choice between going back or 'on'. He also remembered Nick once telling him that he had chosen to become a ghost due to his fear of what was to be found 'on'. With a jolt, Harry realised he had never been faced with this choice.

"Harry? Harry!" Hermione came running into the room.

"Hmmm?" he mumbled, sitting up. Still not completely back from his thoughts, it didn't register with Harry that Hermione was speaking to him, that she could _see_ him.

"Come on, you can do it!" Hermione's voice sounded further away, despite still standing just across the room. Harry was confused, unsure of what exactly Hermione telling him to do. He could hear other voices – far away like Hermione's – even though the room appeared completely empty. Harry attempted to focus on the voices, and found that as they became clearer, the room around him was blurring. Was he moving on? As his world faded to black, Harry wished he could have at least said goodbye to Ron and Hermione this time around.


	3. Part Three

**A/N: **This is it, the final part. It's a very short chapter, a wrap up. I hope you enjoyed the story as a whole. If you did (or even if you didn't) it would be great if you could leave a review letting me know why either way.

**Disclaimer: **If only Harry Potter was mine. Alas, anything you recognise does not belong to me.

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**Part Three**

Blackness. That was all Harry's world consisted of these days. All that was present in this place of barren nothingness was his mind. Time passed at an immeasurable pace, and Harry had long decided this was his version of Hell. He wondered if this is what 'life' had been like for Voldemort's Horcruxes, trapped in a world of nonexistence. Such thoughts reaffirmed his preference for death, and he wished his mind would pass on rather than be trapped here for all eternity. It was maddening.

xxxxx

Hermione sat asleep in the chair she had barely left in the past two weeks. She was startled awake when her best friend in the world, her brother, jolted in the bed next to her. Hardly daring to believe it, she spoke quietly:

"Harry? Harry!" her voice got louder as she noticed his eyes twitching. A few moments later, Madam Pomfrey came running into the room, obviously awoken by Hermione's voice. A hoarse sound came from Harry's throat.

"Come on, you can do it!" Hermione half-shouted, a combination of encouragement, shock, and excitement coursing through her. Beside her, Madam Pomfrey was casting an array of diagnostic spells, voicing her thoughts as she worked. A few moments later Professor McGonagall came bursting through the doors of the Wing, hair down and wearing a night robe and slippers.

"Poppy, what is happening? Is Harry waking?" McGonagall asked as she approached the bed. It was a moment before Pomfrey replied, finishing the spells she was performing first.

"For now, I don't think so," she sighed heavily. "I believe his consciousness has jolted, though there is no hint as to what caused it."

McGonagall placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, who looked closed to tears as Harry returned to his previous state. Madam Pomfrey continued:

"I'm sorry to say, but all we can do is continue to wait. I will reassess his condition in the morning." With that, she turned and walked back to her quarters.

"Miss Granger, please get some rest. Take one of the beds here if you must." Hermione nodded, "I will return in the morning."

"Goodnight, Professor." McGonagall gave a slight smile, before leaving Hermione alone in the Hospital Wing once more. Hermione took Harry's hand in her own, choking up:

"Please wake up soon, Harry. I miss you, we all miss you, so much."

xxxxx

Harry began to notice the blackness change. He felt as though he was surfacing from the depths of the Black Lake. He could feel the softness of a bed beneath him, and hear voices around him, though he could not make out what they were saying. As he continued to rise from the depths of unconsciousness, Harry could feel stiffness in his limbs, and a significant pain in the side of his head. As his awareness grew, Harry attempted to move his limbs to alleviate the stiffness. During this attempt, the voices around him went quiet. Harry sincerely hoped this was not another stage of moving on – he just wanted it to happen already.

Preparing for the worst, Harry forced his eyes open, only to be assaulted by the bright, white light of the Infirmary, sending waves of pain to his brain, forcing him to quickly close them again, groaning.

"Harry! You're awake!" Hermione threw her arms around Harry's neck, the loudness of her voice causing him to wince.

"Hermione, give the bloke a break," Ron said, with a slight laugh. Harry could hear the relief in his voice, the laugh covering his anxiety. Harry felt Hermione step away, and tentatively opened his eyes once more. The pain was still there, though not as severe as before. He watched as a blurry Hermione approached him again, gently placing his glasses over his eyes. As she came into focus, Harry saw tears falling onto her cheeks as she whispered a 'Sorry'.

"What happened?" Harry asked croakily, looking to Ron on his other side – hardly daring to believe his friends could see and hear him.

"It was the Quidditch match. You were racing Malfoy to the Snitch, and, well… a Bludger smashed into your head. That, and falling of your broom… you've been in a coma for two weeks."

Harry just started laughing.


End file.
